Without Merit(37)

“It’s not a picture of you drowning.”

“Then what is it?”

He sighs and slides his notebook off his lap. He tosses his covers aside and stands up. He’s not wearing a shirt and it’s the only thing I can focus on, despite the fact that he’s walking toward me. I have so many thoughts, but the closer he gets, the more jumbled they become. When he reaches me, he takes the drawing out of my hands but he doesn’t break eye contact with me.

“I like that you like my drawings, Merit. I drew this one and thought you might like it. It doesn’t mean anything.” He sets the drawing down on his dresser and then returns to his spot on the bed. He pulls his sketchbook onto his lap again and gets back to whatever he was doing before I interrupted him.

I swallow my embarrassment. Why is he making it seem like I’m overreacting?

I turn toward the door, but then I spin and walk back to his dresser and grab the drawing. When I walk out of his room, I close his door a little too hard. That only serves to embarrass me more.

I hang the drawing next to the one he drew of me this morning. I don’t like that he’s drawn two pictures of me today. I would prefer to be ignored by him much more than being the center of his artistic attention.





Chapter Eight





I didn’t even pretend to get ready for school this morning. I heard everyone rushing around in the usual morning Voss chaos, but I stayed in bed the entire time. I’m surprised Honor and Utah haven’t told my father about my skipping school for the past two weeks. They hounded me about it for a few days but once they realized I wasn’t listening to them, they stopped bringing it up. No one knocked on my door to ask where I was. Not even my father.

I wonder if anyone would even notice if I ran away?

They’d probably notice. They just wouldn’t be upset about it.

I reach under my pillow to check the time and notice a text from my father, sent an hour ago.

Cowboys lost last night. I blame you. Please undress Jesus and burn His clothes as soon as you get home from school today.

I know he’s trying to be funny, but the fact that he incorrectly assumes I’m at school negates the rest of his text. It’s like we don’t even have parents. We have a mother living in our basement and a father living in his own world. No one has a clue what’s going on with anyone around here.

I check the time and it’s just after noon. I get dressed and go scour the kitchen for something to eat. No one is here and I noticed the door to Luck’s room is open, so he must be out looking for a job like he mentioned he was going to do last night.

I eat a sandwich and then go to the garage to get the ladder. Thanksgiving is the next holiday, but I’m not really in the mood to dress Him. I take the ladder to the living room and begin pulling off the duct tape that’s securing the trophy to his wrist.

The door to the basement opens unexpectedly. I’m hoping my mother is about to walk out, but it’s not my mother.

It’s my father.

He quietly closes the door and then walks to the kitchen counter where he downs a bottle of water. He tucks in his shirt, grabs his jacket off the back of one of the chairs, and heads for the door. He opens it and is about to shut it when he finally sees me.

It’s like we’ve both seen a ghost.

He glances back to the basement door then looks back up at me.

Why was he in the basement?

Why was he tucking in his shirt?

Why does he look so guilty?

I can’t move. I’m holding the football trophy in one hand and the cheese hat in the other. My father is still staring at me, frozen in place. He finally looks down at his feet. He goes to pull the door shut but then opens it again and looks at me. “Merit.” His voice is timid and regretful. I don’t say a word.

He doesn’t follow my name up with anything else. Instead, he hesitates, then shuts the door and leaves me alone with Cheesus Christ.

It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts enough to climb down the ladder. I walk over to the couch and sit down as I stare at the basement door.

Did he just have sex with my mother?

Did my mother just let him?

I can’t process what just happened. I can’t.

I immediately rush across Quarter One and open the door to Quarter Four. I run down the stairs to the basement and find my mother zipping up her dress. I look at her unmade bed and then look back at her. At her disheveled hair and flushed cheeks.

“Did you just have sex with him?”

When the words leave my mouth, my mother looks just as shocked as my father looked a few minutes ago.

“Excuse me?”

I point up the stairs. “I just saw him walk out of here. He couldn’t even look me in the eye.”

My mother sits down on the bed, dumbfounded. “Merit. There are some things you’re too young to understand.”

I laugh. “Age has nothing to do with it, Mother. Are you seriously having sex with him, knowing he sleeps in bed with Victoria every night? Is that why you refuse to move out? Because you think he’ll leave her for you?”

She stands up and walks past me, heading for her bathroom. She looks in the mirror and wipes her fingers under her eyes, getting rid of the mascara streaks.

“Is that why you still dress up every day? Because you’re trying to steal him back?”